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08-11-2015, 06:14 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
A snarl greeted the tail end of his words—and it wasn't a snarl from the sleek gray hound his owls tracked with vague, arrogant amusement. Of course, they didn't want to end up in her jaws, but in the sky they were the masters of anything, smug and superior.
Mauja paid them little heed, but felt the first stir of Irma's deep, dark anger, a powerful current starting to vibrate at the bottom of their bond. He drew in air, slowly, deliberately, trying to clear his head and liberate his mind from her primal rage. It didn't make much sense, a bundle of emotions wrapped up with barbed wire and a note saying how dare he attached to it. It had a few old bloodstains on it.
How dare he wasn't exactly what Mauja felt about it, though. He just let his breath out in a sigh, white spiraling towards the distant sky above before dissipating. They are great and powerful and blah blah blah. It was a pathetic echo of what the Moon herself had told him when he'd ascended the throne again. 'Mind your manners.' No, fuck that—maybe she should mind her manners, not spontaneously murder, and perhaps show some fucking gratitude to those who were loyal to her?
But no. The Gods were narrow-minded, selfish, egocentric assholes and Mauja was tired of bowing down. If they could not handle one broken, arrogant man, then they were pretty lousy anyway.
He didn't know what to say, either. Part of him was tempted to simply state that the Gods were the ones who started the war—and it was true, for him at least—or to just sigh and let it pass, because the task of trying to reason with Caleb about it seemed.. well, futile, and Mauja was too tired to try.
So, it was with surprise mingling with his resignation that he noticed the newcomer sort of coming to his defense. It was smooth, it was no hidden promise of loyalty, no sign that he would accompany Mauja back to the Edge or agree with him on anything else: it was just a statement, no more, no less. Food for thought, a vibration in the tension emanating from Caleb.
Once, Mauja had roamed this forest and spoken lovingly of the beauty of the north, of the auroras lighting up the sky, the blanket of cold, crisp stars, the untamed, dangerous beauty you could only find in the snow—and long before he had done that, something in his heart stirring with aching memories, he had come here and spoken with passion about his family of unicorns living by the dead-drop into the sea. Life was long. Thinking back.. kind of hurt.
"The Edge, yes," his voice a thoughtful murmur before regaining its strength. "We are a small herd yet, rebuilding from the ashes of a war between God and mortals. The size of it allows for a sense of family, while still having room for ambition. It sounds sort of pretentious, but we have all ages and species of horse represented, and strive for general acceptance and open-mindedness." His black-rimmed ears flicked forward. "Though I suppose the only way to truly judge the heart of the herd would be to meet more of it. You are welcome to visit, if you'd like."
Mauja paid them little heed, but felt the first stir of Irma's deep, dark anger, a powerful current starting to vibrate at the bottom of their bond. He drew in air, slowly, deliberately, trying to clear his head and liberate his mind from her primal rage. It didn't make much sense, a bundle of emotions wrapped up with barbed wire and a note saying how dare he attached to it. It had a few old bloodstains on it.
How dare he wasn't exactly what Mauja felt about it, though. He just let his breath out in a sigh, white spiraling towards the distant sky above before dissipating. They are great and powerful and blah blah blah. It was a pathetic echo of what the Moon herself had told him when he'd ascended the throne again. 'Mind your manners.' No, fuck that—maybe she should mind her manners, not spontaneously murder, and perhaps show some fucking gratitude to those who were loyal to her?
But no. The Gods were narrow-minded, selfish, egocentric assholes and Mauja was tired of bowing down. If they could not handle one broken, arrogant man, then they were pretty lousy anyway.
He didn't know what to say, either. Part of him was tempted to simply state that the Gods were the ones who started the war—and it was true, for him at least—or to just sigh and let it pass, because the task of trying to reason with Caleb about it seemed.. well, futile, and Mauja was too tired to try.
So, it was with surprise mingling with his resignation that he noticed the newcomer sort of coming to his defense. It was smooth, it was no hidden promise of loyalty, no sign that he would accompany Mauja back to the Edge or agree with him on anything else: it was just a statement, no more, no less. Food for thought, a vibration in the tension emanating from Caleb.
Once, Mauja had roamed this forest and spoken lovingly of the beauty of the north, of the auroras lighting up the sky, the blanket of cold, crisp stars, the untamed, dangerous beauty you could only find in the snow—and long before he had done that, something in his heart stirring with aching memories, he had come here and spoken with passion about his family of unicorns living by the dead-drop into the sea. Life was long. Thinking back.. kind of hurt.
"The Edge, yes," his voice a thoughtful murmur before regaining its strength. "We are a small herd yet, rebuilding from the ashes of a war between God and mortals. The size of it allows for a sense of family, while still having room for ambition. It sounds sort of pretentious, but we have all ages and species of horse represented, and strive for general acceptance and open-mindedness." His black-rimmed ears flicked forward. "Though I suppose the only way to truly judge the heart of the herd would be to meet more of it. You are welcome to visit, if you'd like."
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
